


Sin & Punishment

by MicrophoneCheck



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Autofellatio, Dom/sub, F/F, Foot Fetish, Futanari, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Portals, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27922078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicrophoneCheck/pseuds/MicrophoneCheck
Summary: “There is no shame in accepting an unavoidable defeat. It would be far more courageous to embrace it wholeheartedly. Let loose your true self, Sayaka. Freedom and submission are just facets of the same coin.”
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Miki Sayaka, Akemi Homura/Tomoe Mami
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Sin & Punishment

“...It goes without saying that fortitude has little to do with it. As beings cast from the limited mold of finity, humans are naturally weak against something so unnatural as the ceaseless repetition of futility. Within the bottomless basin of eternity, awareness cannot find the foundations upon which to build the armor called “habit”. Thus does the bitter medicine turn into a poison most sweet, seeping further in with every cycle lost to the throes of an inevitable defeat. Erosion of the self brings about the illusion of change, but that is merely a different flavor of the same stagnation. While failure begets the autophagy of the ego, all that is consumed are the outer layers, the countless façades we perceive as weaknesses burdening our crawl towards the ephemeral phantasm of a victory. Digression engorges the curve connecting points A and B, but those points remain ever fixated, and the line, however distorted its shape, remains the same one that was once so wonderfully, pitiably straight. Do you understand what I mean, Sayaka?”

At last, the devil deigned to acknowledge the sinner in the midst of her soliloquy. Her gaze fell, almost like an afterthought, to the silhouette kneeling in front of her. A thin veneer of sweat lent a glistening shine to skin bared in its shameless totality. The girl was naked, down to her very soul - only her visage stayed hidden, shadowed by the azure hair cascading over her lowered head. One last stalwart vestige of rebellion, in the midst of what would have otherwise been complete submission. Her stillness suffered a slight shiver only when one of the devil’s crossed legs, upon which her elbow rested as she leaned forward to gaze upon her toy, undulated ever so slightly in a casually playful manner.

A smile graced Homura’s lips above the hand where it lightly rested. A thin line so sharp it could have effortlessly cut across the fabric of time and space, had she so willed. Her eyelids fluttered close for a brief moment which seemed to span aeons while she relished in Sayaka’s reaction. The tremor running through the girl’s body had been conveyed by the velvety ribbon which connected them: wrapped around the sinner’s neck, bound tightly around the arms held behind her back, held lazily in the grasp of the devil residing on her own lap, it was not unlike a leash, symbolizing the morbid extent of their relationship.

“There would be no logic in praising birds for their ability to soar through the skies, nor in flattering fish because they can breathe even in the lowest depths of water. Likewise, there is little merit to the struggle humans put up in the face of the inescapability of their death. We owe praise solely to the extraordinary, that which eludes the tedium of common sense. Even so, nonetheless… I must commend you, Miki Sayaka. That you can still latch on so firmly to the remnants of your pride is a testament to the worth of your very essence’s core. I have peeled away all I could from you, be they mind, body or soul, and yet here you are, stubbornly holding on to the pretense of dutiful fealty to our mutual beloved. My wretched rival, I can’t help but admire you with a longing which transcends the frayed boundary between love and hate.”

Slowly, Homura’s foot arose underneath Sayaka’s chin, raising them both so that they may face each other. The sinner, a naked animal kneeling in front of the smirking devil who held domain over her, stared back behind a hardened mask of tired defiance.

“What a beautiful mirror you are. Unmaking you feels akin to sculpting a monument to my discarded humanity. I cannot help but wonder if I would have been able to resist as long as you have, had my predicament been the same. Could it be that you plan to stir me with a nostalgia for a time I so eagerly discarded? Defy me then, even as you serve me. Showcase the fierce spirit you believe still burns within the depths of your soul, in the name of that which makes worth enduring my torment.”

Her caress was bestowed not by the tenderness of lithe fingers, but the firmness of toes clad in fabric woven from the same essence as karma itself. The silky smoothness of her sock-clad foot traced the contours of Sayaka’s clenched jaw with gentle motions, the triangular texture like fangs of a beast savoring its prey. It wasn’t until her toes aligned themselves with the girl’s tightened lips that the devil stopped, pushing forward ever so slightly without daring to push through.

“Savor it.”

A command, delivered with sudden, unsmiling firmness and a tug of her leash. Homura’s voice rippled across the infinite crevice between timelines that constituted her nest, the secret garden where she cultivated her guilty pleasures between cycles of the same idle, empty days. Sayaka’s eyes narrowed in disgust, although she had long since stopped being able to tell if the emotion was directed at the devil or herself. Her lips parted, speaking their silent reply with the eloquence of their act. Her head leaned into Homura’s foot, welcoming her toes in the lake of saliva which had been building inside her mouth. Following their wriggling encouragement, the sinner’s trembling tongue lapped at the smooth fabric with small, hesitant licks while under the satisfied devil’s persisting scrutiny.

“How does it taste, Sayaka? This is the flavor of your cherished lie. A flimsy camouflage concealing the depravity beneath it. The revulsion on your face is no thicker than a paper mask. Take it off, Sayaka. You are well aware that what we both crave is the real, genuine thing.”

A light chuckle. The sinner stopped, adding pressure to her teeth. For a brief moment, her mind courted the idea of doing so until the coppery flavor of blood would bless her taste buds. But it was the thought itself that bled instead, crushed under Sayaka’s teeth along with the tip of the sock she’d drenched in her drool. Her head turned, moving in tandem with the devil’s leg as the fabric slid gradually off, ivory freed from the ebony cover still hanging between the sinner’s clenched jaws. Homura’s bare limb lingered above Sayaka’s head, a slender shadow cast across blue hair. Its lazy descent brought her foot, its dainty tips slightly damp with saliva, to rest at the base of the girl’s neck. It moved back, brushing against her hair, coming to a rest on her scalp as if it bore no more worth than a stool.

“Why hesitate, anyway? I make quite the fair deal in offering you nothing but a mutual exchange. Gratification warrants only the meager price of a simple truth. Abandon yourself to the obvious admission you’ve not yet made, Sayaka. You can see for yourself how well it worked out for your friend, after all. Is it not the case, Mami?”

The devil moved her palm away from her chin, laying it on the plump softness of her seat. Sayaka regarded it, or rather  _ her _ , with eyes which bore neither envy nor admiration. The girl had once been a beacon of inspiration, a gentle guide in the forbidden realm of magic. But the Tomoe Mami in front of her had long since shed those qualities, having found respite from the grief of her inescapable fate within the pitiable safety of humiliation. Here she was now: a mighty heroine, reduced to the role of mere furniture bearing a devil’s weight, crawling on all fours over empty space as if it held the firmness of a cold, hard floor. Her hair, no more bound in elegant curls, was a disheveled cascade which still held its golden luster, the only color to contrast with the nudity of her milky flesh. Her back arched partially beneath Homura’s, who had been sitting upon her for quite some time. And yet, upon her visage, Sayaka saw nothing but the unhidden delight derived from the gentle caresses bestowed on her buttocks.

“There is no shame in accepting an unavoidable defeat. It would be far more courageous to embrace it wholeheartedly. Let loose your true self, Sayaka. Freedom and submission are just facets of the same coin.”

Homura’s fingers sunk into the ripe flesh of Mami’s bottom, gripping and twisting it with sudden strength. The seat’s breaths turned ragged, her moans escaping through clenched teeth. The devil ignored her even as she idly persisted in making of the girl’s buttocks her own plaything. Her attention was all for the sinner, upon whose face her foot had slid. Sayaka’s turmoil danced across the features shadowed by the smooth creases of Homura’s sole, an unholy marriage of contradicting emotions which lent credence to the devil’s honeyed deceptions.

“Pleasure and pain. Humiliation and pride. Innocence and guilt. Strength and weakness. Victory and defeat. Only when concepts reach their zenith do we realize they are one and the same.”

Sayaka’s eyelids fell closed, shutting her vision to the temptress she refused to acknowledge. To safeguard what little portion of her still offered resistance, so that the rest may offer itself in servile deference to the devil. Or, could the truth be entirely specular? She swallowed the question down along with her saliva. No, she need only not acknowledge the notion, for in that moment she would sanction Homura’s triumph. Sayaka retreated within the recesses of her consciousness, letting her instincts gush forth unbridled. A sacrifice to stave off the devil’s influence - or so she told herself.

Her tongue slid out, tasting the raw proof of her submission to the fate woven for her by a cruel, godless devil.

Soon after she’d meekly gotten a few taste of it, the sinner answered what she perceived as a challenge by running the entire length of the devil’s bare foot with increasingly brutish motions. Like a beast in heat, her tongue brushed from the bottom of Homura’s heel to the tips of her every toe with artless motions, her salivary glands squeezing themselves dry to glaze every millimeter of soft skin with her drool. As if she were claiming it as a possession of hers, in a wild contradiction of her submission. That drive, that hunger for the devil’s raw flesh… there was in it an echo of hatred, bent out of its original shape into something entirely different. A warped thirst for love, slaked by running her mouth dry like her heart had been by aeons of futile struggles. Upon the warm skin of Homura’s foot, Sayaka tasted nothing but the sweetness of comfort she so desperately craved, and which she’d been offered in so crude a fashion.

The devil had made of her sole a contract, which the sinner now found herself increasingly eager to sign with the glimmering tip of her soft appendage.

“Do not hold back. Lavish me with your hatred. Slather your scorn all over me. Let your anger run dry, until all that will be left is the purest quality of love.”

Homura’s voice flowed like fuel, igniting the flames of Sayaka’s hidden passions. The sinner began shifting focus, leading her tongue in a sensual, chaotic dance amidst the crevices between the devil’s toes. Her swiveling ceased only to let her lips embrace each digit, her suctions a seeming attempt to part the nails’ enamel from the black hues they’d been painted with. Homura sighed with dignified delectation at the ticklish sensations bestowed upon her, eliciting a breath of relief from her seat as she relaxed her grip on her slightly reddened flesh.

“Here it is, the true nature of Miki Sayaka finally laid bare. What are you, if not a loyal friend, a hopeless lover, a courageous hero, or a proud guardian? Shed away those fictions, and this is all you amount to: a craven animal, driven by a sickening, perverse lust. In other words… we are one and the same, you and I.”

Homura pulled at the velvet leash. The incitement did not go unnoticed: the trail of Sayaka’s ministrations now began leading up Homura’s bare leg, broken by sloppy imitations of kisses as she savored her lean calves, the firm mound of her knee and the warm crevice behind it. Her advance lasted until one last taste of Homura’s thigh: digits covered by a silken glove brushed her cheek, their grasp growing firm as they seized her chin and lifted it. The sinner’s gaze, emptied of all but a hazy reverie, reflected the devil’s half-lidded irises bearing down on her, blackened vacuums where all emotion was fated to fall and disappear.

“But is it truly fine? Should you give in so easily, after all?”

The sinner opened her mouth to answer, but all that slipped out was her tongue, along with a meaningless moan. A jolt of pleasure had erupted between her legs and stolen her breath, down where Homura’s foot had slid like a hungering snake. The devil’s toe had brushed past a trace of pale blue fuzz, coaxing Sayaka’s pink clitoris from the safety of its hood with agonizingly slow caresses. Her foot pressed upwards, its lean top massaging the damp outline of the girl’s leaking entrance in its entirety, the girl’s saliva now mixing with the thicker secretions of her sensitive groin.

An excruciating, irresistible torture. The ebb and flow of stimulation bestowed by Homura’s leg as it slid against Sayaka threatened to shave away those last vestiges of resistance she still held on to. No, but how could she claim to have any pride left, when her hips had already begun swaying in tandem with the rhythm dictated by Homura? What resistance was left, in the panting visage staring at a devil with eyes glazed over by lust?

“Are you prepared to feel the weight of your rebellion crumble into dust, to be finally made aware of how flimsy your resolve was all along?”

Her foot moved faster now, relentlessly pushing against Sayaka as her hips’ movements grew desperate in their attempt to keep up, her groans more beastly, the depraved sounds of her vagina wetter and louder. Until at last, the devil clamped her toes against the sinner’s clitoris, mercilessly squeezing a climax out of the delicate spot. Pleasure achieved its sudden zenith, drowning the unprepared Sayaka in a surging wave of feeling too great for her nerves to bear. She crumbled, leaning on the devil’s cruel limb with her weary body, teeth gritting together even as her voice vied to freely admit her enjoyment. Tears flowed down her cheeks, running hot and copious, as if to prove she was still capable of shame, as if to distract herself from her deplorable inability to stop what was happening in the aftermath of her orgasm.

“My, Sayaka. Is this how you show me your contempt? Or is it further proof that you are on the verge of yielding?”

Homura laughed softly, her smirk pitiless as she forced Sayaka’s visage to meet hers once anew. Enjoying, rather than scorning, the sight of the girl who, robbed of her strength, was now relieving herself over the toes playfully wriggling as they bathed under the clear, hot stream.

“EIther way, I shall accept it, for to you, my mercy is the most malign gift of all. Here: let me relieve your thirst, since you seem to be gasping like a wanderer in a scorching desert.”

She spread her mouth, a grinning wound bearing upon Sayaka’s dazed visage like a waning moon, harbinger of terrible omens. Her tongue, begetter of venomous deceptions, crawled out, its tip beckoning the girl below to do the same. She obliged all too eagerly, her will an instrument played by the devil as she saw fit. The sinner waited, still weary from the orgasm that had emptied both her body and soul, for saliva to gather around the rosy tip above her, until the venomous liquid congealed into a single drop. It rained down, wetting Sayaka’s tongue with its flavor, heralding the steady trickle which now connected the two’s faces by a single, transparent strand. She drank of it, of the substance which gave form to her hated foe’s lies, let the drooling flow from Homura’s mouth persist unbroken down her own, allowed it to stain her throat, fill her being with its corrupting taste.

After a while, it was the devil who interrupted her ministration, licking her lip while holding her plaything’s face cupped in the delicate hold of her hands. Staring, with a false pretense of gentleness as the other savored her fluid with drowsy compliance.

“But that would not be enough. If I am to annihilate you, love and hate must be carefully balanced, until you will have become unable to tell one or the other apart.”

Pearly white teeth flashed a grin dripping with darkly intent. Sayaka flinched, feeling again the touch of Homura’s foot against her wet crotch, along with something else. Her eyes spread open, the glint of reason returned to them by the familiar sensation - the warm flow of magic seeping into her, flowing from the devil’s limb to her intimate organs. She suffocated a gasp, tension paralyzing her every muscle: the spell woven to her detriment was sculpting her flesh as if it were made of malleable clay, her cells rearranged like blocks by a capricious child into a wildly different shape.

“Blurred confines… distorted beyond recognition.”

After an agonizing amount of time passed, the churning sensation ceased, leaving in its wake strange, unfathomable ones. Understanding of what had been done to her did not come to Sayaka, until she felt the smooth pressure of Homura’s foot running down the length of something which had been fashioned out of her groin.

“Let us see how you will withstand this trial, Sayaka.”

The devil’s murmur was punctuated by a sudden, dichotomous pressure around it. The girl stifled a whimper: she could feel it now, the shaft growing between her thighs as blood flowed to erect its full length. And Homura’s feet, embracing it from opposing sides… bare skin, still wet with her secretions, and the velvety, dry warm of the one still wearing its elegant sock. Their soles pressed the magically grown penis between them, slowly descending down to the tip still timidly covered by skin. The fabric, saliva and lewd fluids covering Homura’s toes mingled together as they wrapped around and exposed the quivering, reddened tip. Its extreme sensitivity made their touch send jolts of pained pleasure throughout Sayaka’s body, her breaths growing labored once anew as she struggled to make sense of the novel kind of lust contained in that shaft.

The devil, emboldened by the pathetic display, tugged at the leash to force themselves into a mutual staredown, to let the sinner see in the reflection of those evil eyes the kind of lustful beast she’d been reduced to. Her own panting face, filled with a panting plead for release - although whether from her supplice, or an entirely different kind, she couldn’t tell for sure. Perhaps, as the devil had stated, the difference did not matter. Nothing did, other than the oppressive embrace of those feet pumping her abhorrent growth’s length at a rapidly increasing, relentless pace.

Again, her body moved, but whereas before instinct had craved violation, it was now her who wished to plunge further into the crevice made for her by the devil with her limbs. Her hips thrust in motions made clumsy by inexperience, her lack of mobility and the throes of pleasure produced by that bulge along with its hanging extension. Homura made sure to make her aware of the fleshy sack, too, by pressing a foot against it, as if to further help it brew the scorching liquid that already threatened to make its way down Sayaka’s penis.

The sinner could feel it coming. However unprepared she was, the nerves permeating that shaft sent to her lust-addled brain the feeling of a volcanic buildup close to its eruption. Every movement of Homura’s feet, the pressure of her soles and the squeezing of her toes, bare and otherwise, brought her closer to the edge of a sensation entirely unlike what the masturbation of her womanhood had provided. It felt as if the entirety of her being was being focused in that fleshy length, drained bit by bit from a massage that had now grown into something violent, forceful, almost kicks against her trembling thighs as the devil ground her meat between her feet.

Sayaka’s teeth clenched together, electricity sparkling at the base of her spine, as she felt herself near her limit. But her thrusts stopped, abruptly, from the crushing pressure of Homura’s toes against the base of her artificial organs, forcing their eruption to stop on the verge of happening. Desperation painted the devil’s gaze, uncared for by her amused smile.

“Now, now. Surely, it wouldn’t do for you to fall like so? You are stronger than this, aren’t you? Even where I to deliver the coup de grâce, ultimately yours would be a flimsy, superficial submission, entirely dependent on me. No, Sayaka. It is not by me that you must be defeated, but by the one thing that could ever allow you to relapse back into your riotous stubbornness.”

The devil wove another spell in front of the face of the sinner clinging to her. A circle traced with delicate, casual gestures around her lap, a hole cut into the fabric of time and space for the sake of guillotining the last bastion of her plaything’s resistance. Like the director of a mad orchestra, Homura made the private locus carved into the womb of fate sing a symphony most deranged, preparing the stage for the despicable grand finale.

One starring Sayaka as its centerpiece. The protagonist and victim of this tale stared dumbfounded as from the hole, defying the notion of distance and location, emerged what she knew to be the very flesh the devil had released from the grasp of her limbs. Its impressive length, the veiny flesh throbbing as it pulsed with abundant vitality, cast its shadow over her visage, the erection appearing as if it belonged to Homura rather than herself. But didn’t it, in a way? It was a thing created by dint of her sorcery, after all. A physical vessel, the triumphant proof that the separation between devil and sinner was a pointless, limiting one.

Sayaka stared at it, immobilized by hesitation and her mind’s attempt to deny the truth embodied in such a humiliating sight. A residue of lingering regret - it evaporated, with disarming ease, under the weight of a single hand’s caress, brushing aside a sweaty lock of hair.

“Here it is, Sayaka. Your true adversary. Bleed it dry, consume it without faltering, so that by feasting on its corpse you may know succor everlasting.”

Her own self. Homura. The devil, and the sinner. Sayaka inhaled the scent of the thing that was both and neither at once, and in that instant she felt truth turn into a lie, falsehood becoming an undeniable reality. Her leaning in was an admission of defeat. Her lips, parting around the moist shaft, whispered with their moaning breath a celebration of her victory. As she plunged her own erection into the warmth of her mouth, her tongue tasted bitter regret and sweet anticipation. Above her, Sayaka felt Homura’s hand guide her head’s movements, threatening to part the throbbing flesh from her mouth only to sink them deeper into each other.

Again, and again, and again, and again. Trapped in the mutual repetition of a cycle, likely until eternity itself would run dry. Together, melding into each other to the point of achieving transcendental seamlessness.

An inescapable, addicting hell.

With one last push, Sayaka’s pleasure rose to its limit. A suffocated moan echoed within her chest as she ejaculated in her own mouth, the sticky discharge painting it and her throat a scalding hot white. She drank of it greedily and desperately, as if allowing a single drop to flee would have disproved the willful abandonment of her struggle. The penis fashioned out of her body rested against her soiled tongue until it had been emptied of its orgasmic load and began receding, eventually disappearing like the mirage that it was.

At that point, Homura let go of the leash. The velvet ribbon dissipated, unbinding Sayaka’s neck and limbs. The devil spread her arms in motherly fashion, making an offer that her defeated slave obeyed without question by crawling unsteadily up and sitting on her lap, trembling legs and hands wrapping themselves around the dark silhouette, brushing against the soft feathers of her wings. Their faces, mere centimeters from one other, beheld their reflections in their respective gazes: there was little difference between Sayaka’s dreamy smile, and Homura’s softened one.

“How wonderful you look, now that you’re adorned with understanding.”

The visage in front of hers was disheveled, bereft of reason, stained with traces of white. But to her, it was the portrait of beauty itself. She leaned in, her tongue lapping up the few strands of white dripping from Sayaka’s lips with tender motions, cradling the shivering body in her kind embrace. Once every trace had been wiped away, their bitter aftertaste now filling her own mouth, Homura tilted her head aside. Her gaze shifting as she did, changing back from that of a saintly mother to that of a devilish, insatiable child.

“Now… shall we play some more, before setting the course of time back into its proper motion?”

Her palm parted from Sayaka’s back, coming to rest atop the head of the girl bearing both their weights and sending a ripple of impatient anticipation through her naked body.


End file.
